Paint
by Marigold-Scented-Candle
Summary: Canada has always stirred up so many emotions in Scotland. Envy, nostalgia, and love of more than one type. One shot


_I'm back from the dead. Sorta. I disappeared for a long time because school and applying for university, and now university workload kinda cut into my creativity. _

_hahahaha who am I kidding I'm just lazy, __and dealing with some mental stuff.__ I've had this written for a long time, but I only feel confident posting it now. _

_warning for sexual content. nothing to explicit, but lesbian sex does happen. This is my first rated M piece, so constructive __criticism is welcome. _

_I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia _

"show me then" Canada said softly, a breath escaping. Scotland blinked, looking the Canadian up and down, from blonde wavy hair (so much like her father, so much like Scotland's first love) to beautiful violet eyes (all the Canadians own) to well proportioned shoulders and slim legs illuminated by the pale moonlight. A couple of scars, but nothing compared to the older nations. Canada is young, even if she doesn't realise it.

"paint me like one of your mother's warriors Scotland" Canada's voice, always soft has more wind to it now, and an undercurrent of demand. Scotland nodded. She'd never been able to refuse Madeline. Canada's cheeks turned bright red as Scotland trapped her torso in between her strong legs, and she began to squirm, but a single look from Scotland made her stop.

"Stay still" The mumbled command is hardly needed, because the Canadian's chest is barely even rising and falling now. Madeline is relieved of the over-large t shirt that she uses for pajamas, leaving her bare except for her panties. Madeline felt heat ripple down her entire being. So this was what Alfred felt like when all eyes were on him. This electric thrill, the thrumming of every inch of her skin. It almost made her forgive him for being such an attention hog... almost.

Scotland dipped her fingers in the blue paint letting out a soft breath, calling the old designs to mind, where they lay buried under a near millenia of memories.

Where to start? On the chest? yes. the chest. on the shadow of the girl's sternum, just above the valley between her breasts. The pictish patterns rushed from the woman's fingertips, flowing across Madeline's skin, knotted patterns that were her mother's only truly useless pastime and spirals which were once her words. beasts of old, spears and chariots that marked Scotland's early childhood made their way over delectably flushed stomach and hardened nipples.

"Sc-Scotland..." Canada gasped as Scotland's finger slipped by an especially sensitive spot on her waist. This seemed to knock the red haired woman out of her trance, as her green eyes blinked almost owlishly in the dark.

"M.. Mada" Madeline bit her lip as Scotland wiped her fingers completely of paint, leaving blue marks on the sheets. She can feel the air in the room weighing on her, each subtle movement that Scotland made making her heart catch lazily in her chest.

"Do you want to?" Even though she's the one asking the question the possibility had never crossed Scotland's mind before. This was Canada. Her little Mada, the little girl that she'd raised. The little girl that had grown into an admittedly lovely woman with that slight wildness that Scotland couldn't help but crave from the old days. Back when she and France had lived together, when _she'd_ been the northern savage for him to tame.

"Okay" that's all it takes. there's no holding back as their lips are mashing together violently, with quick panting breaths being stolen between kisses.

It could never be considered sensuous. it is carnal, nearly primitive as the ink that is being smudged between their arching bodies, the delicate designs lost in the heat of the moment.

Neither of of them is graceful, countries forged by harsh weather, tall mountains and rough waters. They weren't like the rest of Europe with their elegance and their poise.

Scotland's hands were wandering once again, taking Madeline's curves into her hands, squeezing roughly to draw sounds into their kisses.

When eventually their lips part, finally Madeline's hands and mouth explore the Scotswoman's body, her chest which is somewhat meager despite all of her mountains, the scars from a melenia of battles, the slight angles of her waist and hips, down her thighs between her legs..

Oh good god...that felt good... Scotland moaned. How did she know how to do this? Slim, calloused fingers were rubbing against her in ways that were surely too good to be true, and Madeline grinding down against her leg,rutting against Scotland's thigh to produce her own pleasure.

Oh god... Scotland could feel her stomach tightening, muscles squeezing, spasming as shocks of pleasure rolled over her body again and again.

She felt warm... Unbearably slick in the aftermath. Slick with sweat, slick with juices that managed to saturate her inner thighs... This felt so wrong... She was sated yes, but... Canada wasn't. When Scotland reached, asking to return the favor, but Canada grabs her wrist before she gets there, and Scotland is too exhausted to protest. Sleep comes too easily, deep,dark and black, overwhelming any sort of dream.

In the morning, Canada goes quietly out the door almost as soon as she wakes up. Clothing is pulled on without ceremony, and the house felt cold after she left.

Scotland knows this wouldn't... Couldn't work out. Madeline confirms it a day later, and Scotland can't help but be relieved.

_and now back into hiding. _


End file.
